“My task is an easy one, Lord Zhu,” the night elven high priestess said in her musical voice. “I am certain the evidence will speak for itself.”
“And while all know I have no love for Garrosh, I would sooner die than dishonor a charge I have been given,” Baine said, his voice deep with the beginnings of affront. What was Taran Zhu getting at?
“No disrespect is intended,” Taran Zhu said. “Well do I know that neither of you would resort to trickery or deception. And yet, there would be rumors that such was the case.”
“That is regrettable,” Tyrande agreed, “but inevitable.”
The bronze dragons exchanged smiles that were almost, but not quite, smirks. “In an ordinary trial, yes,” said Kairozdormu. “But this is no ordinary trial. You are familiar with the Hourglass of Time?”
It was a rhetorical question. The Hourglass—enormous, beautiful, and able to reverse time itself—had been created by Nozdormu, the former Aspect of Time. Nozdormu had foreseen his own corruption and transformation into a being called Murozond, and had given those who would fight and defeat Murozond the use of the Hourglass to aid them in their battle.
Baine and Tyrande shared awkward glances. Word had reached them both that anyone attempting to assist Nozdormu had been confronted by dark, twisted echoes of themselves. It was not a comforting thought.
“We know of the Hourglass,” said Baine curtly.
“Well, ever since Murozond’s defeat, I have been . . . well . . .” Kairoz paused, groping for the word.
“Tinkering,” said Chromie.
“Tinkering, yes,” agreed Kairoz. “Magically. I’ve been exploring the Timeless Isle. Utilizing a few grains of the Sands of Time contained in the Hourglass, and combining them with ground particles of the epoch stones found on the isle, I have crafted an artifact I call the Vision of Time. It’s quite a marvelous little thing, really, if I do say so myself. Its abilities are different from the Hourglass. It cannot turn back time as the Hourglass can, but Chromie and I can direct the Vision to provide a display of any single given point in time—any important moment—as it truly was. I’ve even been able to get some glimpses into the future.”
“How?” asked Baine, glancing up uneasily at the still-cloaked item.
“It can create a precisely controlled rift in time.”
“Do you not run the risk of changing history?” asked Tyrande.
“Not at all,” said Kairoz. He looked proud of himself, and, Baine thought, rightfully so. “As I said, I have altered the intrinsic makeup of the Sands of Time we will be using. The Vision of Time won’t actually manifest the events. Nothing will be here physically—only the sights and sounds will be able to come through the rift.”
“Also, it only works one way,” Chromie added. “There is absolutely no risk of changing anything.”
“Let me show it to you,” said Kairoz. He grasped a corner of the black cloth and, with a dramatic flourish, whipped it off.
The Vision of Time was an hourglass with two dragons crafted of metal—quite literally bronze dragons. Each twined around a globe. They circled nose to tail, and so exquisite was the craftsmanship that they appeared to be merely drowsing.
“The sand in the top globe is not falling,” said Tyrande.
“It will commence doing so when Chromie or I activate the Vision,” Kairoz said. “There’s a finite amount of sand in the upper bulb. Each of you will be permitted a certain number of hours to use during the trial. You’ll be able to choose which historical moments you wish to present as irrefutable evidence, and the duration of each display will count toward your total.”
“In other words,” said Tyrande, “there is no need for witnesses.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say that,” Kairoz said. “You’ll have to choose your moments wisely, and witnesses can help—or hurt—a case with more than simple facts. Chromie has been chosen to advise you, High Priestess, on the strategy of integrating them into your presentations, and I will be working with you, High Chieftain.”
“So,” Baine mused. “No lies, no exaggerations, no difficulties if a witness is unable to precisely recall an incident.”
“The unvarnished, unaltered truth,” Chromie agreed. “Over which there can be no debate.”
“Oh, there certainly could be,” Tyrande said. “Motive, inner thoughts, other plans—”
Chromie held up her hands. “Don’t give your tactics away, High Priestess!” she urged.
“How will we know which moments to choose?” Baine asked. “Will we be able to see them ourselves before we show them to the court?”
“Of course,” said Kairoz. “As for which ones to choose, that’s why you have us. You tell me or Chromie what sort of point you wish to make, and we will assist you in locating the perfect moment.”
“Why don’t we retire to Darnassus and have a discussion about how best to use the Vision to support your position?” asked Chromie.
“You speak wisdom, Chromie. Lord Zhu, do you require anything further of me?” Tyrande asked.
“You are free to leave with your advisor, Accuser. As are you, Defender,” Taran Zhu said. “Now, from this moment on, the two of you and I will not see one another, nor will we exchange any words, until the trial begins. Peace be with you, and may the wisdom of the celestials carry you both as you discharge your duties with honor and diligence.”
He bowed deeply and held the pose for a moment, though it was clear the motion pained him physically, and Baine felt the respect and gratitude emanating from the monk.
Tyrande, too, bowed to them all, and left with Chromie. She still moved with her usual languid grace and power, but there was a subtle eagerness in her steps that betrayed her excitement.
“Well, she certainly seems pleased with my contribution,” said Kairoz, standing beside Baine, looking after them.
“She is right to feel so,” Baine replied.
“And you do not?”
Baine gave him a contemplative look. “All here tonight know well that the pure, unvarnished truth will not reflect positively on Garrosh. And as my duty is to defend him, whatever my personal opinions, this feels more like a gift to the Accuser than anything else.”
“Come now,” Kairoz replied, smiling. “Don’t give up just yet. Even pure, unvarnished truth can be interpreted differently in certain lights. Your right to ask me to display particular interactions is not limited just to what Garrosh has done and said, you know.”
“An interesting perspective . . . I must say, I am intrigued. Let us return to Thunder Bluff, you and I, and you will tell more on how I might make the best use of this Vision.”
It shouldn’t have felt like a celebration, and Jaina Proudmoore knew it. The eve before a trial where the verdict would surely render an execution, the ending of a life? No, of course it should never feel so.
But it certainly did.
She could tell others shared the sentiment, though no one seated at the table tonight would raise a toast to a death well deserved—at least, not openly. But postures were straighter than they might otherwise have been. Voices were lighter, and there was even laughter—something Jaina had almost forgotten. There was contentment in her heart that had not been there for some time, and she dared to hope that now—finally—the horrors of war were over, at least long enough for her to take a breath, mourn the dead, laugh with the living, and truly begin the gentler tasks of learning about being in a relationship with someone so different from her, yet so true.